


Still Yes

by Pi (Rhea)



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, Podfic Available, reference to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 04:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10914075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Pi
Summary: Andrew could curl around Neil forever to hold precious and cherished between them. Because of Neil Andrew has been reworking his own skin. He’s already taken it back, piece by piece on his own. He ties it together in a cloud of violence and family and it holds, but Neil takes the barbed wire without notice and puts his own fingers in Andrew’s palm.Or Andrew/Neil hurt/comfort thing where Andrew does some processing and his answer is still yes.





	Still Yes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knight_tracer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight_tracer/gifts).
  * Inspired by [[Podfic of] Still Yes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10890423) by [knight_tracer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight_tracer/pseuds/knight_tracer). 



It happens while Andrew is doing the laundry. He’s measured out the soap and there’s a thin skin of water in the bottom of the washer as he un-balls white socks and tosses them in. It’s the kind of mindless process where Andrew inexplicably finds himself thinking of Neil. Today perhaps it’s less unusual, Andrew’s body is sore in ways he hasn’t been in years. It’s unexpectedly comfortable. Andrew had worried carrying reminds of Neil on his skin would sour, but it hasn’t. It’s a Saturday afternoon and Neil is out with Matt on some afternoon plan. Even as he’d left, somehow convincing Andrew to do both loads of laundry together, the tilt of his head questioningly for a kiss had been insufferable and perfectly Neil. Neil is an itch under Andrew’s skin and he’s surprised at how much he’s coming to enjoy scratching it.

Andrew slams the washer shut and hops up on it, drumming his feet against the basin as the wash cycle starts up. He curves his hand against his own hip, where Neil’s fingers were, remembering Neil below him, the exposed expression on his face as he turned his head to kiss Andrew’s fingers. Andrew has Neil and the knowledge is a deep possessive joy. In Andrew’s mind Neil’s mouth gasps open, expression blissed, but the words “You like that,” aren’t in Neil’s voice, wondering and fond, but in a voice that crackles through his mind for all it’s been dead two years. Andrew’s own fingers are clamped too hard against his hip. He jumps down from the washer. He feels nauseous.

Andrew can see the mental spiral poised to wash out Neil’s sincere face in his mind. Deep calming breaths aren’t working. The static in his mind is the count down to a wave breaking, or possibly a panic attack. Andrew has seen enough of them to know. Before, when he was sedated on so much medication the brain fog only lifted for games, this was kept hidden. Now instead of being out of his own mind, Andrew can be out of his own body, so he runs. It’s probably taking a page from Neil’s book, but Andrew’s feet don’t take him far.

No one is at the Foxhole Court, but the afternoon sun through the skylights is enough for the court. He can loose his mind in the squeak of his shoes against the glossy floorboards. Across, touch the line, Across, touch the line, Across, touch the line. Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this. Because Andrew had fucking said yes and Neil had cupped his cheek and they’d probably spent a good hour just kissing anyways. Andrew had undressed them both, not new territory but always the power of feeling all of Neil’s skin, scarred and whole against him. Neil is so unreasonably careful and Andrew continues living in the impact of that, the way Neil’s fingers feather across his skin with hope and respect. Not like he’s something breakable but because Neil thinks Andrew is worthy of every caress.

Andrew could curl around Neil forever to hold _precious_ and _cherished_ between them. Because of Neil Andrew has been reworking his own skin. He’s already taken it back, piece by piece on his own. He ties it together in a cloud of violence and family and it holds, but Neil takes the barbed wire without notice and puts his own fingers in Andrew’s palm. Andrew isn’t grateful for any of it, he’s fucking ready to be done. His heart is still pounding, only now Andrew can’t tell if it’s from adrenaline burning up his throat or from the strain of his muscles. But still every time he stops his mind plays the _well at least you didn’t start thinking about…_ game. Andrew grabs his racket up from beside the bucket of balls and switches to shots on goal. Upper left, upper right, lower corners, between the legs, headshot. Andrew is most of the way through the bucket when he hears the click of the court door.

He turns panting, fingers slackening around his racket.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Renee says, which isn’t an apology. The cock of her head and her gesture towards the stands is an invitation and Andrew drops his racket and follows her. Renee climbs all the way up to the nosebleed seats. She sits without looking directly at Andrew.

“Hey,” Renee says after a few minutes of silence. Andrew flips a knife out of his sheath and hands it over. Renee toys with it lazily. Andrew watches the silver flash between her fingers with precision and muscle memory. “I don’t know what it is, but are you going to talk to Bee about it?” Renee asks.

“I already have,” Andrew says. “This is already me being better.”

“It’s funny what better can look like,” Renee muses, “better, and better, and better, that’s all of us. Though,” she tosses the knife, rethinks the catch and lets it clatter between her feet, “sometimes we’re worse.”

“I wasn’t worse last night,” Andrew says, which is more than he wants to say to Renee, more than he’d want to say to anybody except very possibly Neil. But it’d be stuck in his throat either way. Renee is the other person who understands enough. Sometimes Andrew liked it better when the world was five emotional degrees distant, or before that when Andrew didn’t matter.

“So today was a bad day,” Renee tests.

“Today was a bad life.”

“But we’re both still living it, go us.” Renee offers Andrew a fist bump. He punches her in the shoulder instead. “If you wanted fisticuffs you could have said something.” Renee flips the knife and catches it this time.

“Maybe I don’t know what I want, I only think I know what I want and that’s the problem,” Andrew growls. He stares down at the court, it’s starting to look small from all the way up at the top. Renee hums for an answer, tone too neutral and steady for agreement or negation. “I don’t put up with you because I want you to replace Bee.”

“No,” Renee agrees. “I put up with you because I like you.”

“You like everyone, I’m not sure that counts.” Renee hands him back the knife. “It means you’re a poor judge of character.”

“It means Neil and I have something in common. Whatever it is, you should talk to him.” Renee stands, looking Andrew over carefully. After almost a minute of her thorough scrutiny and Andrew’s return glare, she slowly puts out a hand and squeezes his left shoulder. Her fingers grip hard, pressed just above his collarbone and the back of his neck. Then her sneakers tap-tap-tap-tap rapidly down the stairs. Andrew is alone in the Foxhole Court, but somehow, this time he’s present. His legs are stiff and his arms are weak and his chest is worryingly sore but it’s all his own musculature. Andrew thinks about holding Neil’s hand, fingers curled warm against his own. It’s something he wants to do. He hasn’t lost his yes, it’s still there.

Neil and Matt come back and Andrew can hear their voices in the hall. He doesn’t leave his room to find Neil, yet. Aaron is working on a paper, Kevin is out probably at the gym, or possibly pacing while on the phone with Thea. Andrew stares up at black spring wire of the top bunk and tosses an exy ball. On the sixth toss it bounces off his fingertips and rolls across the floor. He gets up to get it.

“Shut up or get the fuck out,” Aaron says without looking up.

“Suit yourself princess.” Andrew grabs the exy ball. In the hall he throws it against the wall where he knows Aaron’s sitting. One, two, three.

“Andrew!” Aaron hollers. Andrew’s lips pull into a smile and he runs for the stairs. Six flights up and he’s on the roof. The metal of the fire door is warped and slams open easily enough. Neil’s face jerks up, startled to see Andrew spilling out onto the roof like building’s on fire. Andrew’s starting to feel like laughing, but just the kind Andrew doesn’t share because it’s his own situational humor, not because it’s pressing up out of his throat on uncontrolled emotional wreckage. Neil’s the one who’s sitting on the roof grit, cigarette burning long between his fingers. Andrew lets out a choked snort and flops down by Neil.

“Matt has weird taste in music,” Neil says, passing Andrew the cigarette. Only, Neil doesn’t let go, so his fingertips brush Andrew’s lips over the filter.

“You live with him,” Andrew says after Neil takes the cigarette back, “you should know that already.”

“I do, but sometimes it’s more obvious than others.”

“What else is obvious?”

“I put our laundry in the dryer. The cold water stuff is drying on the line in Dan’s room.”

“All the girls staring at your lacy underthings,” Andrew snarks reaching for the cigarette.

Neil’s eyes widen, “Not that I’m aware of, so those must be yours.” He holds the cigarette out of reach, ash falling on his shoulder.

“Damn, I forgot I added those to the wash, you’re inconsiderate. 150%.”

Neil laughs softly, “If you did, I’m sorry to inform you that none of them made it through the spin cycle, I only hung your rank socks.”

“They’re not rank if I’ve just washed them and you didn’t hang my socks because they go in the dryer, or your just an idiot,” Andrew spits. Neil shifts back and hands him the cigarette, hands going up in a partial surrender. His forehead creases with concern and Andrew huffs, exhaling smoke mostly at himself.

“Andrew?” Neil asks quietly. Andrew places his hand, palm up on Neil’s knee. Neil immediately twines their fingers together, he doesn’t even stop to ask anymore to be sure. A small yes. Andrew swallows and ashes the cigarette, like they can both pretend that’s the most interesting thing happening. “Is this about-?”

“I fucking said yes and I’m not taking it fucking back now and anyone who says otherwise can go fuck themselves.”

Neil’s fingers squeeze against his hand, Andrew holds him back.

“Okay.” Neil mostly leaves it, but apparently he can’t help himself from following up with, “It’s a yes with me too,” like Andrew could have possibly missed that fact. Andrew squeezes his hand.

“Yeah I got that. Until it’s a no, and you can’t stop me from asking you.”

“Yes,” Neil agrees and he’s smiling. Andrew really hates him. Andrew has all these edges and he can’t imagine how Neil isn’t being sliced to ribbons, there are too many scars already for more of that, but magically somehow it’s just Andrew managing to nick his own fingers.

Neil raises their joined hands.

“Yes or no?” he asks, Andrew’s hand awkwardly below his mouth so that the words are hot against the back of his hand. Andrew’s arms are still cranky from his stupid pointless ball drills.

“Yes you asshole.”

Neil kisses the back of his hand. His lips catch a little where rough chapped skin drags over Andrew’s knuckles.

“Can I kiss you, yes or no?” Neil asks. Andrew doesn’t give him a hard time about not specifying where, he reaches forward to cradle Neil’s face.

“Yes.”

Neil’s lips close over his own. A swipe of his own tongue and Neil’s lips are slick, not rough. His mangled skin puckers under Andrew’s fingers, bumped and rippled in a way only Andrew’s hands know. When Andrew scoots closer, Neil locks an arm around his shoulders pulling him forward. Andrew is practically in Neil’s lap, Neil’s arms hot around him, his fingers clutching Neil’s face, the dart of Neil’s tongue retreating from his mouth for Andrew to follow.

“Fuck,” Neil breathes when their lips fall apart. Neil’s forehead is steady and solid against Andrew’s own, breaths intermingling.

“Not right now, but later.” Andrew says.

“No, definitely not now, this is good.” Neil reaches for Andrew’s mouth but Andrew shifts back. Neil stops, focuses, waits.

“Later, Neil, it’s still a yes,” Andrew says, and means it.

“Okay,” Neil says and Andrew leans forward to kiss him again.


End file.
